


A Guy Like That Would Have Had Enemies, I Suppose

by isthisrubble



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bondlock, Bondlock - fandom - Freeform, Crossover, Gen, Post Reichenbach, Q is a Holmes, the warnings are for later chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisrubble/pseuds/isthisrubble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All James knows about Doctor Watson is that he could have been in the SAS if he hadn’t been a doctor. All John knows about the man following him is that he’s not going to leave him alone. Q knows more than he should. Mycroft is an interfering bastard. Includes running through London and people dying, because that’s what people DO.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Interested Party

A morning that would have been full of nothing but target practice was interrupted by a sudden voice in his ear.

_'007, report to M immediately. Something's come up.'_

'What sort of something, Tanner? If it's diplomats again, I'll be taking that long service leave now.'

_'I don't know, Bond, I haven't got clearance. Just put that sniper rifle away and get a move on.'_

Rolling his eyes, James obeyed. His curiosity was piqued, anyway. Tanner, as Chief of Staff, had clearance for almost everything. If he didn't know what was going on, it promised to be interesting, at least.

He entered M's office twenty minutes later and managed to (barely) control his start of surprise at the second man in the room, who was sitting at M's desk as if it was his own. M stood beside the desk, looking worried.

'Ah, Bond,' said the unfamiliar man as James closed the door behind him.

Facing his boss and ignoring the stranger, he straightened and said: 'You wanted to see me, sir?'

'Yes, sit down. This -' He nodded his head at the other man, 'is someone I understand most of you call the Director. He has a job for you.'

James stared at the Director, hiding his surprise. The Director was a myth, someone no-one had met but everyone assumed was real. He outranked everyone, even, apparently, the Prime Minister. The man sitting before James would be tall when he stood up, powerfully build, but going slightly to seed and also going bald, although his hair was still black as soot. He looked about forty and radiated old money and _power._

The Director pushed forward a thick file. 'There is a man we need you to follow. He's not a threat, he needs protection. You may have heard the name. Dr John Watson, formerly an army doctor with the rank of Captain.'

James picked up the file. The name wasn't familiar, but the face was, in the same way the face of a minor celebrity would be familiar. He flicked through the photos. A university class photograph showing a smiling man with a round, forgettable face, an official army photograph of the same man, thinner and healthier looking.

The next half a dozen photographs were taken later, judging by the lines on the doctor's face, where it was visible in the grainy CCTV stills. In many of them, he was running, but the constant in this series of photographs was a tall, dark haired man, usually in a long black coat that made him look like a bat. The next set were photocopies of newspaper photos, again with the dark haired man. This time they were looking at the cameras and smiling. The captions had been omitted, but getting a better look at their faces was stirring James's memory. Ignoring the thought and allowing it to fester, he turned to the last photograph.

Doctor Watson was standing in the middle of a crowded London street, looking directly at the security camera and giving it a look of pure loathing, neatly coupled with the finger.

He raised his eyebrows. 'He doesn't look like he wants the help.'

The Director sighed. 'We thought he was in no danger, but he was attacked yesterday be men employed by a certain Sebastian Moran. I assume you know of him?'

James nodded. He'd taken over the Moriarty network after his boss' death. Speaking of Moriarty... 'This Doctor Watson, has he been in the news recently?'

'You were investigating Silva at the time it all came to a head, you wouldn't have seen the papers. All the information you'll need on him is in that file. You'll follow him from a distance and make sure he's not harmed in any way. Myself, Moneypenny or Q will be in constant radio contact with you, and will keep you updated on any developments.' M straightened before continuing. Whatever was coming next was the most important thing. 'You are to have no contact with him. He can't know you're there, nor can Moran. If anyone confronts you, you must deny everything. No shooting your way out unless it's your last resort, we want whoever we can get alive.' He nodded to the door. 'Q has your equipment and your new identity. Read the file today, then destroy it before midnight.'

James nodded and got up to leave. 'Good luck, Mr Bond,' said the Director, giving him a look that said _Don't you dare stuff it up._

'Thank you, sir.'

'Oh, and Bond, send in Moneypenny, will you?'

***

'So: Your new personal Walther, Bond, and a Glock just in case. I expect to you bring the Walther back this time, or I might not give you another. If something happens and you do have to surrender a gun, give them the Glock. Anyone can get a Glock, but a personalised gun will be noticed.'

'I know Q, I've done this before. Is that all I get? Not even a radio?'

'Patience is a virtue, 007. The new earpiece I got you to test yesterday, matched to your skin tone. It's waterproof, so don't take it off.'

'I'm sure you really want to hear me talking in my sleep.'

'You're a senior field agent, you don't talk in your sleep. Two Ka-Bar knives, arm and leg holsters. No car, but this torch has, as well as a long battery life, a digital lock-pick. Point at a lock, press and hold, and you're in. New identity in the envelope. You'll find clothes at the house you'll be living it. This -' Bond watched the Quatermaster heave open another case and wondered how the man managed to talk so fast without breaths. '- Is your laptop computer. It's bulletproof, but I'd rather you left it in the house instead of using it as a shield. It works the same as any ordinary computer, however, if you open saved game three in solitaire with _this_ password,' he typed it in so that James could see, 'you'll be connected to our secure network. Watson's file is in your folder, and anything we can find on Moran and his associates will be sent to you straight away. Any questions?'

'Do I get a security feed?'

'Not this time. The Director's people decided against cameras in his house. We've got infrared monitors though, so you'll know if something happens to him. We'll be watching the entire time, don't worry. Good luck, Bond.'

James glanced back at Q as he left the room. Why did the younger man look so on edge?

'Q, have you met the Director?'

Q hesitated. 'Once or twice, yes.'

 _Once or twice?_ 'What do you make of him?'

'He's a very strange man, 007, but I think he'd take that as a compliment. You'd better get going, you've got a lot of reading to do.'

James left.


	2. Blunt Instrument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok now that this is up with more than one chapter I just want to point out the chapter titles of this thing  
> I'm almost as proud of them as I am of the fic  
> ok that's it bye

John Watson, James discovered, was more interesting than he'd expected. His file showed excellent skills with a gun and in hand-to-hand combat, yet he avoided killing unless absolutely necessary and was a highly skilled doctor.

Psychologist's notes hinted at PTSD, a psychosomatic limp and a tremor in his left hand, but a footnote had been added which said: _Not haunted by memories of war. Misses the action. Does not deny fact._

His claim to fame was through the internet. James had only barely heard of Sherlock Holmes, but he remembered the scandal that surrounded his death. Watson, as his best friend, had been defending him furiously in the three months since Holmes's death. This week's attack was the first of what would probably be many. He was targeted because of how vocal he was being. If the Moriarty network was exposed some people would loose everything, and Moran wasn't willing to risk it.

It was a good thing Watson was a good fighter and a fast runner, or he'd be dead already.

John Watson lived in Smiths St, a street of terraced houses in central London that had reasonably cheap rent. He was in number seventeen, and James, using the surname Gale, moved into number twenty-one, two doors down. Close enough in an emergency, but removed enough to not attract attention. James settled in with his laptop and cupboard of simple disguises and set about learning the Doctor's routine.

He went for a brisk walk every morning after breakfast. He shopped for basic necessities once a week. He never took cabs and avoided two areas of London: Baker St and the area around St. Bart's hospital. He always carried an unregistered SIG Sauer pistol in his belt and a Swiss army knife in his pocket. He met a man M identified as Sergeant Gregory Lestrade every Friday at a local pub, and James observed the police officer spreading out files for Watson to read, and taking notes from his comments. Lestrade's file detailed his successful career until the Holmes scandal. He was demoted for his habit of consulting with and encouraging Holmes. Besides Lestrade, Watson avoided everyone he could from his old life. James could understand why.

***

He'd been following Watson for six weeks before something happened. To James' surprise, it didn't happen to Watson, it happened to him.

He was following Watson down a street full of cafés when it happened. Watson suddenly disappeared down a narrow alleyway.

'What's he doing, Q?' asked James, stopping two yards from the corner.

_'I can't see, there are no cameras close enough. He hasn't come out the other end, though. Use caution, Bond.'_

'Right.' James walked slowly past the lane, intending to double back, but a strong hand grabbed him and slammed him against the wall of the alley. The barrel of a pistol nudged his forehead.

'Who are you working for?'

James stared at Watson. He hadn't been expecting this.

'I - I don't - please...' He'd been practicing his terrified babbling and thought he was quite convincing, but obviously Watson thought otherwise.

'Cut the bullshit. You've been following me the whole week, everywhere I go. You've been talking to someone and they've been talking back through that earpiece you're wearing in your right ear. If you don't answer me, I _will_ shoot you. _Who are you working for?'_

Q heard it all, of course. _'Shit, he's smarter than I thought. Bond... Oh damn it all to hell! Bond, tell him. He's probably worked it out already. Don't give him your rank, though.'_

'I'm with MI6.'

The gun lowered slightly. An even more furious look appeared on Watson's face. 'I should have known he -' He stopped as his phone rang. The caller ID made Watson lower the gun completely and swear. James considered disarming him, but it was probably not the best idea. This was a very angry man. Watson turned around as he answered the phone, scanning the area for something.

'You sent a fucking MI6 agent after me! What the hell are you playing at? ... Have you never heard the word ''Privacy"? ... Why? ... That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard in weeks. ... Oh, bloody hell. ... Fine. This doesn't mean you can come near me, though. Come to my house and I'll break your nose again.' He hung up forcefully. James could hear Q sniggering. Had he tapped into Watson's phone?

Watson put the gun away. 'Apparently you're trustworthy, which is more than I can say for that sod. What's your name?'

'Bond, James Bond. But officially my surname is Gale. I know who you are.'

'Obviously.' Watson looked him up and down, considering him. 'Are you armed?' James showed him the weapons he'd been issued. 'Well, that's something. You might as well call me John. How long have you been following me?'

'A month and a half.'

John swore again, and James grinned. He'd forgotten how good a soldier's vocabulary could be.

'Well, come on then, said John, and he turned and walked away.

Perplexed, James followed him and quickly caught up. 'Is that it?

'What?'

'You're just going to let me follow you around? You were going to shoot me just before.'

John shrugged. 'What's the point? He'll just send someone else. And, yes, you can walk next to me instead of following me around like a...' He hesitated, a shadow crossing his face. 'I suppose you know where I'm going?'

'To meet Lestrade.'

'Yes. You might as well meet him too, you could be useful.'

'I _will_ be useful if someone tries to shoot you.'

'Let's hope that doesn't happen, then.'


	3. Last one to John is a Sissy

_Two weeks later_

James met John outside his front door at ten a.m. The doctor nodded in greeting. 'Anything new from the gremlins in your ear?'

James chuckled. 'No news, no new information. One of the gremlins objects to the nickname, though.' He'd never thought Moneypenny was a swearer.

They set off for the shops. The conversation was the same as every week: John complained about the level of security, James reminded John how dangerous Moran was, John said something like "but we're in a _supermarket"._

It all went according to the script until he spotted someone in the soup aisle that shouldn't have been there at all.

'M, are you seeing this?'

_'Yes... Is that Diane Taylor, 007?'_

'Yes.' James turned to John, who was looking at him in confusion. 'I think you've got everything, don't you? Come, I want to show you something.' He grabbed John's arm and led him into the next aisle. John, thank goodness, knew something was up and didn't make a scene. As they rounded the corner, Taylor flinched and raised her hand to her ear.

'Did you see that woman in the blue overcoat? That was Diane Taylor.'

'What, Moran's favourite? How... What are we going to do?'

'Give me a minute. M, can we hack her earpiece?'

 _'Patching you through now, 007. Don't do anything rash, you're in a public space.'_ James rolled his eyes.

A wash of static threatened to deafen him, but then the sound sorted itself out and he heard:

_'He's still in the shop. Get outside or you'll lose him again.'_

_'What should I do about the civilian, Sir?'_

_'If he gets in the way, kill him.'_

_Oh, lovely._

'Come on,' he said to John. 'She's outside, we're leaving.'

'What, are we following her?'

'Listen.' James grabbed John's arm, forcing John to look at him. 'Are you just going to run and hope for the best? Or do you want to go down fighting?'

_'007, are you trying to get him killed?'_

John pulled his arm away, dropped his basket and stalked off. His posture had changed, he looked much more upright and soldierly. James followed him out of the shop and into the car park. He could see Taylor loitering behind a Jeep. Any moment now...

'John, where are you going?'

'I don't know.' He had a ghost of a grin on his face. 'Where do you think she'll chase us to?'

There was a sudden movement from the Jeep and they both threw themselves to the ground as bullets whistled over their heads. James jumped up, pulled out his Walther, pushed the swearing John in front of him and ran.

John bellowed: 'IS THAT AN _AUTOMATIC?'_ as they rounded the corner and found themselves in a busy shopping strip.

'Yes!'

John swore again. James grabbed his shoulder to slow him down. Running in a crowd like this would only bring attention to them. John seemed to get it; he adjusted his stride and hunched his shoulders slightly. At a glance, he was a different man.

James glanced around, waiting for the people around him to notice that there were at least two people with guns in the crowd.

_'I've lost him, Sir! Can any of the others see him?'_

_'God fucking dammit, Diane, use your eyes, he's there somewhere!'_

'She can't see us,' hissed James. 'Now would be a good time.'

They slipped into a side street and started running again. John drew his pistol.

_'Bond, you've been seen, she's coming!'_

'She's coming, John! We've got to -'

'Here! This way!' John had found - what was it, a fire escape? - and was already climbing fast. The building was three stories high and they reached the flat roof quickly. Once there, they flattened themselves to the cement and listened.

Ten seconds later someone run past. _'That was her, Bond.'_

James stood up. 'Now what?' He wouldn't admit it, but he was impressed. John was smart: instead of just letting the chase go on until someone got shot, he'd tricked Taylor and bought them some time.

'We should hole up somewhere... Let's just say I know more places to hide in London, shall we? Let's go.'

They crossed the roof to another fire escape in another alley. Guns away, John led the way through the city without speaking. This suited James just fine, as he was too busy listening. Taylor worked out reasonably quickly that she'd been tricked, and Moran and his sources were trying to track them. She was behind, but she knew where she was going and M resorted to sending three 00's to head her off. She was too good for them, and while they kept her in sight she knew they were there and kept a safe distance. She seemed to think they were police.

Finally, in the middle of a street John hurried up the steps of a dilapidated townhouse, slipped out a lock-pick and opened the door.

The inside was as bad as the outside, but it was empty, and a better hiding place that James had expected. He really needed to stop underestimating John.

_'Stay put, 007. You're safe for now, but we'll keep you posted.'_

'Yes, sir.'

James turned to John. He hadn't moved since closing the door.

'You alright?'

'Yeah, fine, just...' He had a look on his face that James recognised, a look that said he was trying to forget something painful. John slid down the wall beside James, who resigned himself to staying here for now. It could be a long wait.


	4. Send a Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, sorry

They waited in silence for nearly half an hour. John spent most of that time clenching and unclenching his fists in time with his breathing. James supposed the running had brought back memories of similar escapades with Holmes. That was one thing John refused to talk to him about. They swapped theories on Moran and what the government and MI6 was doing about him, but John clammed up whenever Holmes was mentioned. James, knowing he had his own secrets, had decided not to pry. He had, however, passed on John and Sergeant Lestrade's information on the network. MI6 would find many uses for it, he was sure.

_'Bond, Taylor knows where you are. She just got a text. Should we sent the others straight to you?'_

'Have they got her?' John stood up, dusting off his palms.

'No, but she's coming. What do you want to do?'

John considered. 'How many of your lot are coming?'

'Three, but they know what they're doing.' Privately, James thought they weren't needed. He and John could take on one man, so Taylor, talented as she was, shouldn't be _that_ difficult.

John seemed to be thinking along the same lines. 'Tell them to wait outside, just in case. We should be able to deal with her. The more people are involved, the messier it'll get.'

'On one condition: You stay out of the way unless you have to. I'm supposed to be keeping you alive, remember.'

John agreed, so James relayed their decision to M, who reminded James to look after John, but approved the plan.

They didn't have to wait long. Soon the door creaked open and Taylor slipped inside. She saw James in the half-light a moment before he pulled the trigger. She ducked and dived, and James felt his legs go out from under him.

They fought hard. Kick - punch - claw - punch - slap... She managed a hard knee in his stomach, and he a sharp elbow into her ribs, but she was stronger than he expected, then suddenly she twisted and stood, hauling him up with her. There was a knife at his throat.

_Well, damn it all to fucking hell._

She turned them slowly towards the door, and he could _hear_ the smirk in her voice as she whispered, 'When the police come in, we'll -'

'Drop the knife and step away from him.' James felt every one of Taylor's muscles clench. 'Drop it, or I will kill you.'

The knife clattered to the floor as she moved away from him. James twisted around and saw that the barrel of John's gun was touching the back of her neck. No wonder she'd been spooked.

He found his gun and aimed for the heart. 'The cavalry are coming, so don't try anything. Thanks,' he added to John, who managed a stiff nod.

***

Once Taylor had been loaded into a car and driven away, James and John slipped away from the scene. They still had to buy John's milk. 


	5. Hello, Brother Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters were written before I had the idea for this fic, but I couldn't publish them without a story to attach to them. That's why they're more character-centric than plot-centric.

_Sometime during the next week_

Moneypenny was working with 007 at the moment, but that didn't stop Q from keeping one eye on the man. It wasn't just Bond he was worried about, even though he was the most interesting of the 00 agents and the most likely to help Q test an invention. He felt partially responsible for Doctor Watson, too. It was because of Sherlock, of course. He'd left them in this mess, and because Mycroft was too busy and too lazy to look after it on his own, he'd dragged Q in as well. It wasn't that he shirked responsibility, but he could see the look on his dead brother's face if something went wrong. He'd avoided that look as much as possible while Sherlock was alive, he didn't want it haunting him even though the man was gone.

One of his monitors flashed. Ah. A visitor. Did Mycroft ever sleep?

Two minutes later the doors to Q Branch slid open. Q didn't even bother to look up. 'It's three in the morning, Mycroft.'

'I'm aware of that. Do you ever sleep?'

How did he always know exactly was Q was thinking?

'I've been on duty until and hour ago, as you very well know. Why are you here?'

Mycroft sighed. 'Am I not allowed to visit my own brother?'

'Your brother is dead, Mycroft. He died in the explosion.'

'Officially. Are you going to insist that I call you Q?'

'Yes.' Why not? Mycroft needed to be put in his place every now and then.

Q continued to fiddle with the encrypting programme he was working on. Mycroft watched him in silence. This was perfectly fine as far as Q was concerned. He was used to working with distractions, but he still worked best in silence.

Eventually something occurred to him, and he looked up. Mycroft was looking at him in a way that said he was about to do something he thought showed how much he cared for his brother but would just embarrass him.

Q decided to intervene before it could happen. 'Mycroft, what are you going to do with Moran once he's been caught?'

Mycroft tapped his umbrella thoughtfully. 'I would have thought M would want him. I'm sure he knows quite a lot.'

'After that, though. Once he's talked as much as he's going to.'

'You know the procedure, Q.'

'You'll have him killed.'

'Of course.'

He should have expected it, of course, but even years working at MI6 didn't make you immune to death. Unless you were a 00, of course.

Dead things had always made him uncomfortable. Probably a side-effect of his childhood. Not to mention last January. Q was hardly the only person in the world to have a loved one die, but it didn't make him any less upset about it.

He really didn't want to think about Sherlock. But he refused to leave Q alone.

'Mycroft... Do you think we failed him?'

He knew what Q was thinking about. Of course.

'I did the best I could. You, on the other hand... Well, you could hardly say you and he were close, could you?'

'You know why I had to keep my distance. If Moriarty had found out...' He already had known more about Mycroft than he should have. What did Mycroft know about him and Sherlock, anyway? Mycroft had never been very close to either of them.

Mycroft twirled the umbrella. 'Perhaps I shouldn't have encouraged him in his deductions. I had no idea he would be in such demand.' _What you should have done was not betray him to Moriarty,_ thought Q bitterly. Mycroft hadn't listened to him before, though, so there was no point in repeating himself.

'Is that all, Mycroft? Is there anything else you want to say?'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. 'Your manners are as appalling as ever.'

Q didn't care. Part of him didn't think Mycroft deserved any manners at all.


	6. Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See chap summary of previous.  
> (I may or may not have been watching Casino Royale while writing this one)

_At the same time as the previous chapter_

Cold. Cold and wet. He was sinking, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Dimly he was aware that he'd been shot. That didn't bother him either, really.

There was no sound, no movement -

He sank past someone. A female someone, floating eerily in a haze of red. Oh. She was wearing a red dress. That was it.

His shoulder hurt.

He knew her. And as soon as he recognised her, he realised that she was, indeed, floating in her own blood.

She was looking at him. He knew that face so well, knew those eyes, and there was something there, something in her face...

 _Was_ she actually looking at him?

She stared at him as he sank away, and she raised her hand, pointing at him, her face accusing -

He knew, and he screamed, and water flowed into his mouth, choking him, but he couldn't stop, couldn't look away, he was -

Awake.

_Jesus Christ._

Swearing violently, James leapt out of the bed and staggered to the window, which he threw open, breathing in the fresh night air.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

_'Bond, are you alright?'_

'Shut up, Moneypenny, if you know what's good for you,' he growled. Adrenaline was surging through his veins, heightening his senses. He fought to push down the shock and muted horror.

Where the fuck had that come from? He hadn't seen that face in five years. Why was it coming back to haunt him now?

He couldn't stand it. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he _blinked,_ it seemed that image was seared into his eyelids.

He had to get rid of it. Shaking slightly (God almighty, what was _wrong_ with him?), James hurried downstairs to the punching bag he'd set up in the living area.

An hour later he was sweaty and worn out, but no less shaken. It had stopped flashing before his eyes like a broken newsreel, but he knew he'd never get back to sleep.

Just in time, his earpiece crackled. _'Are you done now? Or are you still going to kill me?'_

'Why, have you got something worth saying?'

_'Yes, but first, you do realise it's half past three in the morning, don't you?'_

No. Damn. 'Does it matter?'

James heard her give a little huff. _'I don't suppose so. We've got you some new information. Taylor's finally started talking.'_

'Is it on my laptop?'

_'Sending it through now.'_

He went back upstairs to his office. When he opened the laptop and saw the date, he knew why it had happened today, of all days.

Vesper Lynd had been dead five years. To the day.

***

Hours later and slightly less dishevelled, James turned up at John's house at the usual time, to find the John wasn't out yet. He waited ten minutes, but John was usually punctual, and it worried him.

'Moneypenny, where is he? What's he doing?'

_'Er... It looks like he's just standing in the kitchen. The kettle boiled a few minutes ago but he didn't move.'_

'Right.' That didn't sound encouraging. He knocked on the door, but got no answer. 'John, I'm coming in if you don't come to the door.' There was no reply, so he got out Q's lock-picking torch and opened the door.

John was indeed standing frozen in the kitchen. He was still in his pyjamas, but he didn't look up when James came in. He was completely tense and his breath was jerky and uneven.

'John, are you - God, you look like shit!'

John looked as bad as James probably had looked when he'd woken up. He was white and haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and a look of complete misery.

'Like _you_ can talk.' True. James still looked pretty bad, if his mirror was to be believed.

They looked at each other for a few moments in silence, then John asked 'Nightmares?'

James nodded. 'Nightmares.'

'Just... Just give me a second...' John gestured helplessly at his pyjamas.

'Sure,' said James, retreating to the living room.

***

Twenty minutes later they sat down with tea (John) and coffee (James). James realised suddenly how little John knew about him. He knew what PTSD did to people, he'd seen it first hand, but John didn't know that. As far as John was concerned, he was just a bureaucrat who was good with a gun.

'I was in the Navy,' he told John. 'I know what it's like.'

'Right. Great.' John rubbed his eyes. Then he looked up sharply. 'You're not my therapist. If I'm going to talk about it, you have to, too.'

Oh, no. 'I thought you didn't have a therapist.'

'I don't. That's the point... You know I was in Afghanistan, I suppose. I see it way too much. Things blowing up, men getting shot... Usually I can deal with it, but last night... _Jesus Christ...'_ He looked up at the ceiling and ran his hands through his hair. Maybe it had been a bad idea, asking about it. 'I saw... this street where a team had been ambushed, and there were dying men everywhere, I was trying to help them all, but they all were... They all had... _Fucking hell..._ Every single one of them was Sherlock. _Every single one._ And I couldn't...' he shook his head, and James looked away to give him a moment to regain his composure. He hadn't been expecting that. Holmes's death had hit John hard, he'd known as much from the files, but hearing this sort of thing straight from his mouth was a different thing altogether.

Why exactly was he here, anyway? This wasn't his job, this wasn't in his brief.

But John was his friend, and this was what friends did, wasn't it?

He could practically hear old M's voice: _I would ask if you can remain emotionally detached..._

John looked back at him. 'Your turn.'

James closed his eyes. Her face flashed again. _Shit._ He'd never talked to anyone about it before. Opening up wasn't his thing. But he wanted to now, for some reason. Or maybe it was need. Either way, whatever it was was egging him on.

He forced the thoughts away, trying to clear his head. John would need a simplified version.

'Years ago, they - MI6 - sent me to a casino because a banker for terrorists had lost his client's money and was trying to win it back at poker. I was supposed to beat him. I was with someone from the treasury...'

'A woman?' prompted John. James blinked, surprised, and the doctor muttered 'sorry, go on.'

'I won the game, we got the money, then I... We... I wanted to marry her,' he admitted. 'We went to Venice together, then I got a call from my boss, saying the money hadn't gone to the right account. She'd taken the money out and I followed her, and she gave it to someone, I found out later that the banker had been working for them. There was a gunfight, and we were in this old building, it was being restored and it was floating on these inflatable things... They locked her in a old lift shaft and left her there when the building started to collapse. I tried to get her out, but she pulled the key out and she...' he shut his eyes. 'She drowned herself,' he finished harshly. It still hurt. It shouldn't have.

John frowned slightly. 'And last night?'

'I saw her drowning again.' He realised what he'd left out. 'We found out later she gave them the money to stop them from killing me.' She hadn't betrayed them willingly. That was important.

The silence stretched between them. James felt as if a pressure had been lifted from his ribs, as if suddenly he could _breath._ Had he been carrying that around all this time? If he'd known how much talking helped, he would have gone to the therapist's appointment M had made for him.

John's head was bowed, and James wondered what he was thinking.

He looked up abruptly, and his face was a mask. The subject was officially closed for now, it seemed. 'Any news from your end?'

'Yes, actually. Taylor's talking.' Something occurred to him, and he smiled. 'How would you like to go catch some small-time criminals who work for Moran?'

John grinned like a shark. 'Delighted to help.'

The rest of the day went swimmingly.

Pity he couldn't say that of the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, after this, you're craving some Vesper, I recommend "A Tragedy of Error" by coldgreydawn


	7. A Fleeting Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, something's just flown out the window, what is it? Oh, right, it's just my sanity. Bye sanity *waves*

James and John took Greg Lestrade out to lunch the next day as an apology for "taking the law into their own hands." Well, that was how he put it. M, when he'd heard about the fight they'd started before the police turned up to arrest three of Moran's contacts, had called it "supreme idiocy." John had agreed with him, to James' surprise. But he'd still been happy with what they'd achieved. A dent in both the criminal class, and in Moran's network.

A sudden explosion of swearing came through James' earpiece. Only practice kept his face perfectly blank. He'd never heard Q loose his cool like that before.

 _'Bond, there's a man breaking into your house.'_ Q sounded slightly in shock. _'He's not a threat to Watson, but I don't know what he knows about you.'_

'Who is it?' James muttered, ignoring John and Lestrade's surprised looks.

_'I can't tell you, Bond. Classified. No-one you know. Don't - where are you going, 007?'_

'What's happened?' John looked concerned. 'Is it one of Moran's?'

'No. Some idiot's broken into my house. I'm going to get rid of them. You're perfectly safe here for now. Stick with Lestrade.' James grabbed his coat and slipped out into the street. Q was telling him to stop, to leave it alone, but James wasn't in the mood. If Q wanted him to leave it alone he shouldn't have told him what was happening in the first place.

He reached the house and looked up. The intruder was upstairs. He was probably looking for information. Thank God it was all on the laptop, password protected. James silently and slowly entered the house. He always closed the blinds while he was out, and in the dark, it looked as if nothing had been touched. None of the doors had been opened. He knew because he never closed a door properly: most people searching a place would shut the door fully again, so he could tell, usually. It seemed that the intruder had gone straight upstairs.

Thankful that the stairs didn't creak, he slipped upstairs and over to the study door. It was wide open, and the man was sitting at James' desk, on James' laptop, reading the files on Moran.

Ignoring the babbling Q, who sounded like he was having a panic attack, James drew his Walther and aimed at the man's head.

'Step away from the desk and put your hands above your head or I _will_ shoot you.'

_'Bond, if you shoot him I will kill you with my bare hands.'_

_Interesting._ Just how important was this man?

The man did as he was told, and James got a good look at his face, which was all angles and familiar, although James couldn't place it. He was pale and thin, with cropped brown hair, stubble and an expression of faint surprise. He didn't look scared at all, which was disconcerting.

'How d'you get into those files?'

The man rolled his eyes. 'I used the password, you fool.'

'How did you get the password?'

'Better question, well done.' His voice was rich with sarcasm. 'You're obviously following John for someone. You have an earpiece that's very well designed, so a rich and clever someone. If you were going to harm John you'd deserve to loose your information, so I shot your computer. It's bulletproof, which told me who made it, or at least who helped make it. Last I heard he was working for MI6, which means you must be too, so you're protecting John. I also know that this is a prototype by the way it's made, therefore he set the password. The first key of the password is an eight, I can tell from the keyboard, and I know how the rest of the code that starts with the eight goes, so I used it.'

He said all of this very fast.

'Who are _you_ working for?' demanded James to hide his shock. Did the man know _Q?_

'No-one.' James raised an eyebrow. 'Oh? Have I disappointed you? Were you hoping I worked for Moran so you could shoot me?'

_'Are you listening, 007? Put the gun away.'_

'What do you want with John?'

'The same as you, I expect. To keep him alive and more or less healthy.' He paused. 'I think we can assume you're not going to shoot me, so -'

'What makes you think that?'

'Someone's talking in your ear. If you were supposed to kill me you would have done it by now. They've identified me, I suppose. No, you would have reacted. But my name will have come up on someone's screen now. Damn.'

'What should I do with him?' If the intruder knew about his earpiece, it didn't matter if James talked in front of him.

_'Get him to leave, Bond. Don't lay a finger on him.'_

'Why not?'

_'Bond, that's an order. Don't ask questions.'_

James lowered his gun warily. Just because Q thought he was safe didn't mean he could let his guard down. But he had a security problem to solve.

'How did you get in?'

The man smirked 'Through the skylight.'

 _'What?'_ But that was...

Oh. The intruder waved a hair grip at him. He'd picked the lock.

James shook his head incredulously. He must really have wanted the information to go to such lengths just to get into the house.

The man smirked at him. 'Well, I got what I was after. I'll just be off, then, shall I? _Don't_ let anything happen to John, or I'll have to hurt you.'

'That would be _very_ ambitious of you. If you come near him or me again I'll kill you.' And he meant it, too. It didn't matter what Q said, James had a bad feeling about this guy. 'Now get out.'

Once he'd left, James stood and stared at the skylight, which he'd now locked again. 'I don't suppose you're going to tell me who that was, are you, Q?'

_'No.'_

'What am I supposed to tell John, then?'

_'Tell him a kid broke in and tried to steal your computer, but he scampered when you threatened to call the cops.'_

He did so. John swallowed it.

James spent that night rigging tripwires to all the doors and windows.


	8. Some Men are Coming to Kill Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the reason this story has the warnings. Just so you know.

_The next week_

They were on their way to meet Lestrade when it happened.

Walking along a shopping strip, James saw the lowered blind that covered the shop they were passing twitch as something appeared below it.

It was the barrel of a rifle.

James yelled: 'Get _down!'_ and threw himself on top of John as the gun went off. The window shattered, and the people around them started to scream.

They both leapt to their feet and pelted down the street, away from the danger. John suddenly darted into an alcove, dragging James with him. They both peered around the corner.

Someone, a man, ran out of the shop and hared off in the opposite direction. John, damn him, leapt out and gave chase.

'John!'

_'Bond! What's he doing?'_

'John, _stop!'_ He grabbed John's arm, but the soldier tore himself free.

'You really think I'm gonna let him go? Last time we were being chased, this time we can chase him. I want to get Moran, I want to stop him. You're not stopping me.' He turned and ran.

James swore and chased after him.

They followed the shooter for two hours. He tried to shake them off, but John knew a lot about the backstreets of London, and they kept him in sight. James wondered how hard he was actually trying to loose them. Q agreed with his theory, but James didn't dare mention it to John, who seemed to be enjoying the hunt. It might ruin it.

Finally they followed him to an alleyway that smelt of chlorine. The shooter slipped through a door into one of the buildings. John looked around and blanched.

'We've been set up, haven't we?'

'What makes you say that?'

'I've been here before. The pool...' He trailed off and stepped out into the open, slowly. James made to follow him, then stopped.

'Q, we're walking into the trap. They'll search me, so I'm taking out the earpiece and hiding my Walther. Any suggestions?'

_'Keep Watson safe. And don't get killed.'_

'Right. Great.' James took out the earpiece and slipped it down his sock. He might need it later. He then unholstered his personal Walther and dropped it into a bin. He kept the Glock, though. Just in case.

John was waiting for him at the door. Now that they might have actually found Moran, he looked frightened.

'Look,' hissed James, 'Don't worry about Moran. My job's to keep you safe and I'm going to do it.'

John took a deep breath and seemed to steel himself. 'The last time I was here,' he muttered, 'I had a bomb strapped to me.' Ignoring James's blink of confusion, he opened the door.

The first thing that hit James was the overpowering smell of chlorine. It was definitely a swimming pool. They were in a back passageway that usually only the staff would use. Almost immediately they arrived at some double doors. John was shaking slightly as he pushed them open.

The pool seemed utterly empty except for a lone man standing halfway along the side, next to a sturdy-looking chair.

'This is a turn-up, isn't it? Bet you never saw this coming.'

John visibly flinched. It sounded as if the man was quoting something. Whatever it was, James didn't recognise it.

A gun touched the back of his neck. Glancing back, he saw a tall, powerfully built young man with an AK-47 slung over his back. Wonderful.

'I thought you'd remember. I was there, you know. I was in charge of the guns. Stupid bloody waste of time, really, but it got the message across.'

Only one other exit James could see, a door down the other end of the room. There could, however, be doors he couldn't see because of the cubicles, or another way out if he could get up to the viewing gallery, Wait, yes, there was a door up there.

'You lured us here. Why?' John spoke through clenched teeth.

Sebastian Moran laughed. 'I wanted to talk to you. Face to face. I thought it was about time.'

James was being ignored, which suited him. He thought about Sebastian Moran.

Former SAS commando, rank: Colonel.

Specialties: Sniper, hand-to-hand combat.

Dishonourably discharged in 2010 for working for the Taliban during his free time.

He was shorter than his assistant, but he oozed power and authority. There was a wide, jagged scar across the bridge of his nose and down his right cheek. He held his gun casually, as if it were an extension of his arm. James felt intimidated, and that was rare.

Moran made an ugly face at John, who stood firm, even as a gun was pointed in his face.

'Don't fright easily, do you?' Moran nodded to his assistant. The younger man pointed his gun at John, while Moran swapped to James as he advanced.

Moran frisked him expertly. Out came the knives, Q's torch and the Glock. He tossed them all into the pool. 'I can't believe you brought a police officer, Doctor Watson, really. He's not doing a very good job.' He turned to John, who was watching, mute. 'You try anything, I'll shoot you. _You_ try anything,' he turned back to James, 'and I shoot Doctor Watson.'

He smirked, turned slightly and punched James in the face. James crumpled, dots appearing before his eyes. That was a powerful punch. Another one of them and he'd be unconscious.

Moran kicked him twice, knocking him towards the edge of the pool. He stared at the water, inches from his face. _Fuck, that hurt._ One of his ribs was broken, and quite possibly his nose, too. Moran's boots had steel caps.

Suddenly there was a shout, and someone grabbed James' collar and practically threw him into the pool. He struggled desperately, but his head was held down. _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck -_

Air. _Oh, thank God._

James lay on the edge of the pool, retching and gasping. His head felt light and his body ached. As he got back his breath and bearings, he gradually became aware of the feet of two people standing in front of him. Person One was straining against Person Two. Looking up, he identified Person Two as Moran's lackey, and Person One as John, who look horrified.

'See?' said Moran from somewhere above James, 'I told you, don't try anything. I'll kill him next time.' James looked at John again. There was a bleeding scratch on his cheek. It looked like he'd gone for Moran, and that was why James had been dunked. 'You should find that reassuring, by the way, _James._ You see, I think he did it to _protect_ you.

'Lock him up over there.' The assistant let go of John and hauled James to his feet. At the end of the room, he was handcuffed to an old pipe. Moran, after throwing John's SIG Sauer and knife into the water, was cuffing him, arms and legs, to the chair. James shuddered, remembering one instance when he'd been strapped to a chair. He hoped John wasn't about to go through what he had.

The chair had a seat. Good.

Moran glanced over. 'Done? Good, go and check on the others.' The lackey left, taking his AK-47 with him. James wondered who "the others" were. Moran's men? Or people from the swimming pool?

Moran started talking to John. James listened at first, but he couldn't follow the conversation. He might have read all the files he could, but it wasn't the same as _knowing_ Moriarty or Holmes, as the others had. Moran seemed to be taunting John, who was rising to the bait. Stupid man. He wouldn't last very long in an interrogation.

Sure he was being ignored again, James twisted his hand around and got hold of the cuffs. He felt the locks. _Good._ He could pick them. There was a thin needle secreted in his belt, just for this sort of situation. Slowly and quietly, he worked it out and applied himself to the locks.

His right hand was bleeding. It must have been cut on the side of the pool. It stung, but he'd survive.

_Click._ First one hand, then the other came free. He managed to put the pin back in his belt, and grabbed the handcuffs so they wouldn't fall and give him away. He just had to wait, now, for an opportunity to strike.

James looked up to see Moran unbuttoning John's shirt. He placed a finger on the skin below his left shoulder.

'Glad I got to see that. Nearly killed you, didn't it?' James remembered why John had come home from Afghanistan. He'd been shot in the shoulder. _That_ shoulder.

'What would you know about it?' John looked up at Moran, defiant.

Moran smiled. 'You weren't exactly anonymous in Afghanistan, you know. Dr Do-Good, always trying to protect the innocents, even when they weren't on our side.'

'Every life matters.'

Moran snorted. He stepped back and folded his arms. 'You were getting in the way.'

'Of what, exactly?'

'I'm sure you know why I was discharged.' John muttered something James couldn't hear. Moran shrugged. 'They paid more. And loyalty's an outdated ideal.'

_'You_ stayed with Moriarty.'

'He payed me well. But you, you stuck with your nutcase for nothing. When I heard you were with him, I thought: how many times is this guy going to get in my way? And here we are, finally. I can finish what I started. Moriarty wouldn't let me last time.'

'What you started?'

'You kept getting in my way. You were getting close to working out what I was doing, even if you didn't really know what you were doing. I would have done it sooner or later. Oh, come on,' incredulously, 'you really think one of those ragheads shot you? From that distance?' He shook his head and went on gloatingly, 'your team was in the way, you were going to interrupt an important deal. I wanted to get rid of you. Two birds with one stone.'

Oh, no _way._ 'You... You mean...' John was struggling to make sense of what he'd heard. Then the penny must have dropped, because he swore violently and snarled, 'Oh, you fucking bastard!'

Moran laughed, and James felt a thrill of fear. Moran raised his pistol, and James considered running at him, but there was no point. If he did, he'd just get shot for his pains, and John would still die.

_Shit._

The gun fired.

John screamed and jolted backwards. The bullet slammed into his right shoulder and blood spurted everywhere.

'There you go. Both sides are equal now, don't you think?' He surveyed his handiwork. 'I wonder how long it will take for you to bleed to death.'

James' blood was boiling. He wanted to tear Sebastian Moran limb from limb. He forced himself to compartmentalise, to control himself. Throwing himself into a fight would only get him killed.

Moran paced towards James, who hung his head and tried his best to look defeated. 'Now, what to do with you...' He reached him, and James set his jaw.

Moran grabbed James's collar and hauled him upright. He was a strong man, but the handcuffs would have arrested James's momentum.

They didn't, of course, and Moran's momentary lack of balance was all James needed.

Clenching both fists, he punched Moran hard in the gut. As soon as he doubled over, James wrestled him into a headlock, only to find himself thrown off after Moran executed a well-placed hit to the back of his knee.

Regaining his balance, James looked up just as Moran's fist thundered into his throat. He choked and staggered, gasping.

The colonel straightened, laughing. 'You've got some - _ourf!'_ James had head-butted him, hard.

He pressed his advantage mercilessly, throttling Moran with one arm and pulling his head back painfully by the hair.

He let his fury have its head.

He grabbed Moran by the chin and the back of the neck, and twisted hard.

There was a sickening crack as the neck broke.

Somehow, Moran was still alive. He was blinking at James in terror. What to do next? Kill him? He didn't have a gun, but -

Suddenly James's senses readjusted and he could hear John, whimpering in pain. Somehow he was still conscious, which just made it worst. Moran had done that.

Let the bastard suffer before he died, then.

James threw Moran's limp body face down into the pool.

Now that the fight was over, he needed to get John out of here. He fished his earpiece out of his sock and put it back in his ear. Moran's gun lay a foot away, so he scooped that up, too. Who knew how much Moran's man had heard?

'Q, this is Bond, Moran's dead, but John's been shot. I need an ambulance or something.'

He heard the Quatermaster sigh with relief. _'Are there any other hostiles in that pool?'_

'At least one.'

_'I'm sending in backup first.'_

'Q, hurry up, John's bad.' He knelt in front of the wounded man. The damage was horrific. 'John, _John,_ look at me. You've got to stay awake, alright? _Jesus...'_ James pressed on the wound and stared at the remains of John's shoulder. So much blood.

If he died, James would never forgive himself.

***

_CRASH._ James' head snapped up as, somewhere in the building, a door was kicked open. 'Q...'

_'It's alright, 007, it's us! How many did you say there were?'_

James sighed with relief. It was 002. The reinforcements had arrived. 'I only saw one, but there'll be more!'

_'Alright, we're - Fuck! Check right!'_ They could hear gunshots and shouting. Someone was putting up a fight. John groaned. Despite the pain, his eyes were wide with fear.

'Don't worry, they're on our side. Just stay awake, will you?'

John groaned in response, gritting his teeth. James swallowed hard. There was blood everywhere, and he only had two hands. He could hear the gunfight between the MI6 agents and Moran's lackeys.

Suddenly all the noises stopped.

'Two? Are you alright?'

_'Yes, where are you, 007?'_

'At the pool!'

_'I know that!'_

'No, as in, right next to the fucking thing. In the pool room.'

_'Okay, okay, we're coming.'_

He heard running footsteps and slamming doors, then 002, 008 and 0010 came running into the room. They all stared at the scene. Susan Kew, 0010, was the first to unfreeze. She hurried over to James and John, shrugging off her coat, which she helped arrange over John's wound as a makeshift compress.

'The ambulance is coming. We had to secure the area first.' She shifted her hands and gave him an exasperated look. 'Did you have to drown him? M wanted us to bring him in.'

'He never told me that.' John's eyes were rolling back in his head, so James kicked him in the shins. He jerked back into consciousness too quickly, and gave a strangled scream.

_Jesus Christ._ 'John, look at me, _look,_ the ambulance is coming, you're going to be fine, just stay awake, please stay awake...'

He heard sirens approaching. Maybe they were going to get through this, after all.

James and Susan remained at their post. They didn't move until the paramedics arrived, finally, and took over.

James slumped back on his heels, exhausted. He was very aware, now, that he had broken bones and had nearly been drowned. Everything hurt.

'James...' Susan was there, supporting him. He could smell her perfume. Lavender. That was new. 'You've got a broken rib. Come on, the paramedics will look at it -'

'Wait.' He lurched out of her arms and over to the pool's edge, where he washed the blood off his hands. The gash on his palm stung, but he could deal with that.

At least his hands were clean. He never wanted to see John's blood on them again.

***

A second ambulance was called after the first one took an unconscious John away. They had to dispose of Moran's body.

A paramedic set James's ribs, gave him painkillers and tried to persuade him to go to hospital. James was about to get angry with the medic, a young, pompous man who thought he knew everything, but Susan put a stop to it by flashing her ID card. The paramedic, suddenly overawed, left James alone.

The police had cordoned off the area and were talking to 002, exchanging information. James hoped they could keep the press out of it, or, if not, at least hide John's identity. He might be a public figure, but he was in no fit shape to be subject to that sort of thing.

James wandered over to the alley he and John had approached the pool from. He retrieved his Walther, flicking a banana skin off it before stowing the gun in it's holster again.

A car pulled up outside the police tape. The driver got out and opened the back door. He caught James's eye. 'Mr Bond? I'm to take you back to HQ.'

'Did you send him, Q?'

_'The Director did. He and M want you for debriefing. The doctors will look after Watson, don't worry.'_

They were halfway to Headquarters when James realised something and started to laugh.

'Q, I've got a a present for you.'

_'What are you talking about, Bond?'_

'You'll never guess what I've got in my hand.'

_'Just tell me then, will you?'_

'It's a fully functioning Walther.'

Something told him several members of Q-Branch would be collecting bets once that news got around.


	9. One More Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second-last chapter!  
> *Waves chapter title*  
> *runs, fast*

James was in Los Angeles on a mission for most of the time John was in hospital, but he made sure he visited when he could. The old M had told him not to form attachments with people he was working with, but that had never stopped him. If someone had stopped him on the street and asked him to name his friends, the only name he could have given was John's. It was probably a bad thing, being friends with someone outside the service, but neither of them were particularly bothered. James knew the score, anyway. With Moran dead, John was safe enough to look after himself once he got out of hospital. James, no longer useful, would be shipped off on more serious jobs and eventually they would forget about each other.

M actually seemed to encourage his visits. He asked James to pass on a message, telling John that he would like to meet him a week after John finished rehabilitation. Why, James didn't dare ask, although he had his suspicions. John was perfectly suited to the sort of work James did, even if he was older than the regular recruiting age. He wasn't sure what John would think, but decided not to mention it. If he was wrong, John would get worked up for no good reason.

M told James to come to the meeting with John.

***

John seemed wary about getting into the car until he peered into the back seat and saw James. Looking relieved, he clambered in.

'Hello! How have you been?'

'Fine, how's your arm?'

John shrugged without wincing. 'Full movement back, thank God, although it still hurts sometimes. What about you? You haven't been shot lately, have you?'

'No. Was that a veiled query about what work I've been doing recently? Because I can't tell you anything. You know that.' John laughed.

The car took them to a modern apartment building in St John's Wood. James recognised five senior field agents stationed outside. Eve Moneypenny met them in the lobby.

'They're upstairs.'

'Who's "they"?' He'd only been expecting M. Now that she mentioned it, why wasn't she upstairs with him?

She glanced at John, muttering so that the doctor wouldn't hear: 'Q and the Director. You'd better hurry.'

The _Director?_ Why did he want to see John? Why had M told James it would be him who was there?

And what did Q have to do with it?

They rode the lift up to the second floor. More guards on the door they would obviously have to go through, but James didn't recognise them. The Director must have brought them.

As soon as they entered the room, John froze, staring at the Director and Q, both of whom had stood up as they came in.

'I thought you said we were meeting your boss,' said John accusingly. James shrugged.

'That's what they told me. Why, d'you know these two?'

John sneered. 'That one,' he jerked his head at the Director, 'is Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother. He basically runs the country, from what I've heard. And _you,'_ he turned to Q, 'you're related to Sherlock too, aren't you?'

'Now, really, John...'

There was no love lost between John and the Director, judging by the bitter tone with which John said: 'Shut up, Mycroft.'

'I am related to them.' James stared at Q. So did the other two. 'Sherlock and Mycroft are my older brothers.' _Are?_ 'I'm afraid I can't tell you my name, but that's a bit beside the point.'

John nodded slowly. 'Why am I here, then? It can't be to ask about my health, I'm sure you have access to the doctor's files.'

'Sit down, John.'

John didn't move. 'People I don't trust don't call me "John."'

The Director sighed, impatiently, it seemed. 'What have I done to -'

'What have you done? You, Mycroft? Everything! He was your own brother and you _sold him out_ for your _precious_ country. Why the fuck should I trust you?' He stopped for breath, chest heaving. 'Don't you dare say it was for the greater good, I don't care how important that information was, it's your fault Sherlock's dead. You gave Moriarty that information and it killed him.'

There was a long silence. John was still breathing heavily, still furious. James absorbed this new information with interest. He remembered when he'd first met John, and John had phoned someone to complain about James following him. He'd thought, at the time, that Sherlock's brother (That's who had John told him later that he'd called) was a low level civil servant, and had had serious doubts about his ability to get someone like the Director or M to send "a fucking MI6 agent" after John. It never occurred to James that he could actually _be_ the Director.

If what he'd said was true, it was little wonder John hated him. The Director's face was completely blank, unaffected by John's tirade.

Q cleared his throat uncomfortably. 'Doctor Watson...'

John practically threw himself into the only unoccupied chair. Feeling slightly out of place, James shifted to stand behind him.

'Why am I here? And If I don't know your name, what do I call you?'

'You may call me Q. I am representing the head of MI6 as he is unavailable at the moment.' The Quartermaster hesitated. 'Doctor Watson, MI6 would like to offer you a job.' John started to speak, and Q hurried on: 'You have the sort of skill-set we look for when recruiting, you have more experience than most and you seem to have some talent for espionage. And you are currently unemployed.'

John closed his eyes briefly. 'Was this his idea?' He pointed at the Director, who shook his head. 'Look, I know...'

Suddenly Eve's voice came through James' earpiece. _'Q, 007, I've got an unknown entering the building. We're running his face now. He's carrying no obvious weapons. Carter's stopped him.'_

John had noticed their preoccupation. 'What's going on?'

'Someone's coming.' James drew his Walther. Carter knew what he was doing, but if Eve was wrong about the weapons, this could go downhill very quickly. The Director was frowning. He mustn't have an earpiece. Odd.

Q was on his tablet, flicking through screens. _'No match,'_ he cried in frustration, glaring at the screen. 'Picture, show me a picture - Fuck!'

Everyone turned to stare at the Quartermaster, who had turned white as a sheet. He touched his ear. 'Moneypenny! Do _not_ let him in - Carter! What's he done to Carter? Shit, someone stop him!'

'Who is it, Q?' The Director was staring at his younger brother. James stared too. Q had stood up and was completely ignoring the tablet now. His eyes were fixed on the door and he was mumbling: 'No, no, you _idiot,_ what are you _doing...'_

'Eve, what's happened to Carter?' Were they being attacked?

_'He's okay, just knocked out, but that guy can do judo or something, he's going - he's in the elevator! Q!'_

'James, what's happening? Who's coming?'

'007, what is going on?'

'STOP!'

The room went silent immediately. Q's outburst had been aimed at John, who froze with his hand on the door handle.

Q took a deep breath and continued: 'Don't go out there, Doctor. You mustn't contact him. In any way. Including walking out there now.'

'Why not? Who is he?'

Another deep breath. 'That's classified, I'm afraid.'

'Who is it, Q?' asked the Director calmly. There had been an umbrella leaning against the desk. He tapped it on the polished concrete, twice. 'Do I have to order you?'

'Mycroft, I can't tell you. I _can't.'_

'Why not, may I ask?'

'He - he...' Terror and desperation poured off Q like smoke from a fire. James had known the Quartermaster to be nervous, scornful, disappointed and elated, but never even scared. Who the hell was outside?

John huffed and rolled his eyes. 'If you can't tell me why not, I'm going out there.' He pulled the door open.

And slammed it shut straight away.

James caught a glimpse of a lone man outside the door before it closed. He glanced John's way, then stared. He'd thought John looked angry before, but that was nothing to how he looked now. The doctor was bright red, there was a muscle jumping in his jaw, his fists were clenched and his whole body language screamed: "I am _this_ close to _throttling_ someone."

'You knew,' he spat at Q, and his voice was low and furious. 'You _fucking bastard,_ you knew!' He rounded on the Director, who actually looked worried. It was the first proper emotion James had ever seen on his face. 'Did you know? Did he tell you?'

'Doctor Watson, I assure you, I have no idea what you are talking about. Who is outside, Q?'

Q shook his head very slowly. The Director and James both turned back to John, and James saw that his eyes were full of tears.

The Director seemed to read something big from John's expression, for he turned very slowly to face Q and said, very softly, 'Winston...'

_What?_

_Q is the Director's brother, the Director is Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft Holmes knows his own brother's name. Therefore, Q's real name is Winston Holmes._

_Right._

Q looked at the Director and seemed to steel himself. 'If he had wanted our help, he would have contacted us.' Whoever "he" was, he clearly meant something to the Director, as he closed his eyes with a slow nod of his head.

John sucked in a deep breath and turned around, raising his voice slightly as he addressed the door and whoever was outside. 'This is how it's going to work. I'm going to walk out this door and over to the lift. You do not to talk to me, you don't touch me, you don't stop me, you don't interfere, you don't make a sound. Is that clear?'

'John -' The voice from the other side of the door was familiar, and James racked his brain, trying to work out who it was.

'Give me one good reason not to walk away now.'

'They were going to shoot you.' The stranger's voice broke. 'If I didn't jump they had orders to shoot you.'

John closed his eyes. He was obviously trying very hard not to cry. 'You couldn't have - No. Not good enough.'

He opened the door and strode past the man, whom James recognised as the man who'd broken into his house all those months ago, the one Q had known. He looked desperate.

'John -'

'Don't! Don't you fucking _dare!'_ John spun around. He was crying openly now, but he still managed to look terrifying. 'You think that makes it okay? A whole year, Sherlock, a whole _fucking_ year and you don't call, you don't text, you don't contact anyone and you expect me to say what, exactly? _Welcome home?_ I can't.' All the rage suddenly drained out of his face. 'I just... I just can't.' Shaking, he turned and hurried into the lift.

The man turned to look into the room, and suddenly all the dots connected, and he knew why John, and Q, had reacted the way they had.

Sherlock Holmes was most definitely not dead.

_What a fucking bastard._

'Bond, go after him, would you? We wouldn't want anything to happen to him now.'

'Yes, sir.' James left the room and hurried to the lift. As he left, Holmes slipped into the room and shut the door.

***

John was outside, leaning against a lamppost. He didn't react as James walked up beside him.

'So,' said James, wondering what to say. 'He's not dead.'

'You noticed.' John's words dripped with sarcasm. He turned to James, who tried to mask the conflict he was sure showed on his face. Too late.

'Did _you_ know?' John took a step back.

'No.' Liar. Well, lying by omission. 'He... Do you remember my place getting broken into?'

'Ye-e-s...'

'That was him. I only recognised him today. Q said I shouldn't tell you, so I didn't.'

'Orders?'

James nodded, unsure. John was no longer looking at him or their surroundings. He was clearly somewhere else.

What must he be thinking? His best friend was back from the dead, the best friend he'd been defending for months.

John suddenly laughed a little hysterically. He was crying again, but after a moment he brushed the tears away and turned back to James.

'Shit. Shit, James, what the hell am I supposed to do?'

James considered. 'Do you hate him?'

'No. No, I could never - He - No.'

'Do you _trust_ him?'

'Bloody hell, James,' said John without heat. He sounded utterly worn out. 'After all he's done? Of course I can't trust him. Could you?'

Trust a man who didn't trust him? Who didn't think he was capable of coping with danger? After all John had been through? No way in hell.

But...

'He owes you.'

'What?'

'He left you to deal with all the shit, he left you to clear his name. He's in there now, talking to Q and the Direct - Mycroft,' He definitely wasn't supposed to know that, but too late now. 'You deserve to know what he's telling them.' And John certainly wanted to know, it was written all over his face.

'What should I do, just barge in?'

'Why not? I'm on the payroll, I couldn't do it, but you're a free agent. They can't kick you out.'

John straightened up, unconsciously adopting his military stance. 'Thanks James, I...' He shook his head, but James understood. It was unlikely that they would meet again. The shook hands, and John turned and went back inside.

***

James waited outside, wondering what was happening. It wasn't long, however, until Q and Eve came out of the building, leading Carter and his colleagues, who looked slightly ashamed of themselves. Of course, they didn't know who the intruder was.

'What's happening?' asked James as the Director also exited, making for his own car.

'They're talking.' Q shook his head. 'Mission's over, Bond. It's not our problem any more.'


	10. The Job's Done

_One month later_

'... now look at that security camera.'

James obliged. Immediately a tiny diagram and a few lines of text appeared in the corner of his left eye.

'Too small. Can't read it.' Q made some adjustments, and after a moment the contact lens James was wearing responded. 'Better.'

He turned to Q and his computer. The lens registered the computer and pulled up some data. Q noticed what he was doing and snorted. 'That's enough for today, 007. If you can come in tomorrow, we'll test it again.'

James took out the contact lens and returned it to it's case. If Q could get it to work properly, he'd happily wear one during every mission. Especially if he could persuade Q to include a feature pointing out the weak spot of any computer or gadget. A simple snip of a wire would be so much more efficient that shooting multiple holes in everything. Less satisfying, sure, but more efficient.

James looked around Q-Branch as Q packed up. Each desk had a high tech computer, but only half the agents were actually using them. There was quite a large group gathered around some blueprints, carrying out a very vocal discussion about weight distribution. He wondered what they were working on. Q would never tell him.

One of Q's techs entered the room armed with a newspaper and a confused expression. He stepped up beside Q, who said flatly, 'A newspaper? Really?'

'Moneypenny said you should read it. Compliments of... Of the Director, she said.'

Q raised an eyebrow while James chuckled at the tech's slightly awed expression. 'Oh really? Why didn't he just -' Q clammed up hurriedly, obviously realising how close he'd come to making his connection with the Director common knowledge. He took the newspaper and unrolled it. Whatever was on the front page made him gasp, then grin. He handed James a post-it note that had been attached. It read:

_The internet will have more accurate details, I'm sure, but it does no harm to see what the general public sees._

_Perhaps 007 will be interested in reading it._

_MH_

Surprised, James followed Q to his office. Once the door was closed and the frosting on the glass turned to opaque, Q flattened the newspaper out so James could see the main article.

_

SHERLOCK HOLMES IS ALIVE

The "Moriarty Network" officially shut down

_

Well, well, well. He'd wondered how long it would take.

The most striking thing was the photograph. Sherlock Holmes sat behind the desk at what seemed to be a media conference. He was looking straight at the camera, and the impression James got was that Holmes was looking out of the photo and into his head. It was disconcerting.

Looking away, he saw Greg Lestrade (the caption said "Detective Inspector") on one side, and on the other, John Watson.

He looked healthy, cheerful, and, most importantly, relaxed, as he sat next to Holmes, and James felt a surprising jolt of relief. They'd made up then. Good.

He glanced at Q, who was reading the article proper, and smirking. He looked up and caught James's eye. 'Lestrade's made all that information you lot collected public, by the looks of it.' He straightened up. 'What do you think?'

'Good for them. Not good for that Riley woman who started it all.'

Q chuckled. 'Do you want to keep it?' he asked, folding up the paper and offering it to James. 'I've heard it all already.'

Well, he had nothing better to do with his afternoon.

***

_SHERLOCK HOLMES IS ALIVE_

_The "Moriarty Network" officially shut down_  


_Sherlock Holmes, famed "web detective" who made an apparently successful suicide attempt a year ago, is alive and well, it was revealed in a police press conference last night._

_Holmes faked his death after documents came to light implicating him in an intricate fraud scheme. It was claimed that he had invented a criminal mastermind, James Moriarty, to improve his reputation._

_The press conference was called without warning, and featured, alongside Holmes, Dr John Watson and Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, two men prominent in the fight to clear Holmes's name in the aftermath of his apparent suicide._

_Sherlock Holmes's name was cleared when the sources proving the existence of Richard Brook, the actor Holmes was alleged to have employed, were proved to be false. Evidence was also found that verified the theories that Holmes had been forced to jump off the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital._

_Holmes refused to comment to_ The Daily Telegraph, _however the press conference was filmed and can be viewed in full on our website._

_The "Moriarty Network" has been **Continued page 3.**_

_**For the complete saga of Sherlock Holmes, see page 6.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all I'm really sorry if you were hoping for a John/Sherlock showdown, but this story is from James's point of view and he wouldn't be there, so I can confirm that it does happen, you just don't see it.  
> I've done a scene like ^ in my other fic "Maybe I'll Be Gone" if you're interested.  
> Thanks for reading and commenting! I hope you enjoyed the story!


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